


It is This That Brings Us Together

by Mytha



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, Canon Divergent, Canon Typical Violence, Drunkenness, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Smut, canon typical slurs, character exploration, frenemies to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-12
Updated: 2017-03-12
Packaged: 2018-09-30 16:58:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10167620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mytha/pseuds/Mytha
Summary: Aveline spends her time off babysitting Kirkwall's most notorious rogues. What could possibly go wrong?





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [skybone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skybone/gifts).



> Happy Wintersend!
> 
> There really are not enough works for these two.
> 
> (Disclaimer: Chapters 2 and 3 follow some events of - and include some dialogue from - the game. I have taken liberties with both. They were a lot of fun to play around with.)

The heat is sweltering on the coast. Outside the city, the movement of air and the absence of foul smells that accompany each heatwave in Kirkwall make it more bearable. Aveline is grateful for that at least. She is, however, melting in her leathers and armor. Her head aches.

Hawke and Isabela have been insufferable. They do not seem to notice the heat as much as she does. The pirate certainly seems entirely unfazed by it. Well, growing up in hotter climes will do that to you. 

Aveline wonders at Hawke's adaptability. How does she endure it? She may not be wearing as much metal as Aveline is, but the Hawkes, after all, also hail from Ferelden – they are not so different.

But here they are, and Aveline is melting.

Hawke, of course, is slowly being teased out of her armor by the void-forsaken pirate. Aveline wonders if she would feel quite so annoyed with them if they were not so blatant about their flirting and casual trysts. They are one as bad as the other – promiscuous... slatterns.

No, she wills her ire to abate. It is the heat that brings out her short temper. They are her friends.

Hawke is a hard woman whose kindness is always coated in sarcasm. She knows Hawke admires her for her fighting skills, her efficiency, her strength, but she wishes she could see in Hawke some of her own desire to do good – to change the world for the better. Hawke seems to just be in it for the adventure, the fights and the jokes – and if they help some people in the process, well, that is an added benefit that can be turned to coin.

Isabela is almost the same, carefree and crude. Aveline thinks she has her respect, though Maker knows she has a funny way of showing it. Aveline has been impressed with her and wanted to kill her an even amount of times.

The pirate had fallen into bed with Hawke almost as soon as they had met. Isabela had extended the invitation and Hawke had been only too glad to take her up on it. In the year or so they had spent together Aveline has watched them fight and make up countless times. Yet they both were not the types to be monogamous. They got their thrills whenever the opportunity arose – and that was that.

They are thick as thieves. Well, they _are_ thieves. Maker! Isabela certainly is. Aveline turns a blind eye to some of it and she does not quite understand why.

She had grown so close to the Hawkes when they came to Kirkwall from Ferelden. Had lived with them for a year. Worked with them. Tried to protect. To hold on to a sense of belonging. Hawke's sister Bethany is the good soul of the family and Hawke has often taken the high road to please her in the past, but now that Bethany is with the Gray Wardens... Aveline worries. Well, now it is her job to keep Hawke on the straight and narrow. And what a job that is. Just her luck it means she has to spend her time babysitting Kirkwall's most notorious rogues in her time off.

Well, one thing to be said for them – they had her back. Hawke and Isabela helped her oust the criminal elements of the guard and expose the old captain for what he was but, sweet Andraste, they get on her nerves sometimes. She wishes they could just... behave!

How has she landed herself in this mess again? Running errands for Hawke on one of the hottest days of the summer. She is a fool. Won over with a smile from these charming idiots. Still concerned about Hawke. She ought to know better.

“I know a place,” Isabela says now, “where we might cool off a bit.”

“Oh, you do, do you – _sweet thing_?”

Maker help her, they are even talking like each other now. Well, they are whispering, sharing conspiratorial glances. Isabela's laugh rings out vibrant and clear.

Aveline does not like the look of this one bit. Nor does she like it when the pirate takes the lead. Isabela is taking them along an old, narrow path that is much too overgrown for her comfort.

The gorse scrapes her skin because she has taken off her gauntlets, and the sand is hot and deep, making each step a chore. She is a sweaty, itchy mess and it is entirely their fault.

After a while – she has fallen behind – there is a shriek from Hawke that makes her push herself again, rushing forward as fast as she can, ready to defend.

When she is finally clear of the overgrowth she sees Hawke's beaming face, sees her crowing in delight at the view. They are on a cliff. The ocean is blue and the sky uncharacteristically clear for the Wounded Coast. They are at the region's border where the influx of the open sea is noticeable. Light is reflected by the waves and hurts her eyes. The wind is strong outside of the cover of rocks and plants and the air seems clearer than it was before. Hawke is near the edge, arms outstretched, fighting the wind. Screaming. 

“It's a secret spot, ladies.” Isabela stands triumphant: hip cocked, skin glowing, eyes sparkling and her hair a wild cloud of tangles around her head as the wind has its way with it. “Every woman ought to have one.”

Aveline scoffs. As far as double entendres go, she is used to better. She tells Isabela as much.

How is the pirate looking so alive in this heat? Even Hawke's short black hair is matted with sweat, but Isabela's is soft and streaming. Tendrils of it snake out to brush Aveline's face as the pirate leans close.

“I've got a trick to show you, big girl.”

Aveline glares and wipes her brow. She knows her patience has run out. She is tired and hot and – why did she agree to come here? They could be well on their way back to Kirkwall.

“I think you'd find a more appreciative audience for your tricks at the Rose, whore.”

Isabela just laughs and walks back towards Hawke, hips swaying. “Oh, I'm sure you'll get a kick out of this one.”

As she walks she removes pieces of jewelry slowly and deliberately, tossing them to Hawke one by one who catches them with a grin on her face. “Do as we do, big girl, take all that metal off.”

She is not going to do it. It would be foolish. Secret spot or not, they do not know if it is free of danger. She is not going to be caught unawares while her friends are vulnerable. Her friends are... Maker, what is the pirate doing? What is Hawke... ?

“This is hardly the time!” Aveline's face is crimson.

“Relax!” Hawke shouts and gives her a wink. “I am just helping her out of her boots.”

Isabela catches Aveline's eye and licks her lips lasciviously. “Don't be such a prude.”

Enough! She has had enough. She is going to take them back to Kirkwall, willing or not. 

The wind turns, blowing hot air and sand from behind. Aveline rushes over towards them. Isabela yelps, jumping to her feet, laughing in her face. Aveline is about to grab her when the pirate turns, sprints towards the edge and - dives off.

Aveline's heart stops. The world is suddenly very slow and very quiet. Her blood is pounding in her ears – or is it the surf? How rough is the sea here? How deep? Surely there are rocks. Why would she? Of all the _irresponsible_...!

She moves over to Hawke, who is peering over the edge of the cliff – face equal parts amusement and concern. Time stretches. Then there is Hawke whooping and pumping her fist in the air, yelling down to the water. She grabs Hawke's arm roughly, forcing the rogue to face her. Hawke crows with laughter.

“Your _face_! Come on, let's get down there!”

Aveline wants to be angry, but the feeling eludes her. She still feels numb with shock.

“Did you think she was finally headed to _Massive Head Trauma Bay_?” Hawke is grinning at her, her tone taunting, mocking and Aveline is going to throttle her, anger finally resurfacing for a short moment, but is stopped by the rogue's departure down the rocks.

She follows Hawke, who is leading her down over rough slabs of stone and then small steps hewn into the rock. Did smugglers make these? Did dwarves? Has Hawke been here before? She seems to know her way. Has this been an elaborate prank? Likely. Her head hurts. Maker take them both!

They reach the bottom and there is a small hidden cove and a beach. Aveline feels like she is sinking into the sand. She sits. There is shade. Mercifully the cliff allows for some shelter from the sun. The rocks exude cold. She finds her water skin and drinks deeply. She takes off her boots and digs her toes into the cool sand. She sits and watches Hawke strip out of the remains of her clothes and rush into the surf, screaming as the cold water hits her. She sees Isabela swim towards her, dip and dive – then Hawke is pulled under the water. They emerge moments later laughing and clinging to each other.

They are like children. Careless and cruel. There is no use in her torturing herself any longer with anger and misplaced fear.

This beach seems sheltered enough. Aveline takes off her armor piece by piece, leaving them neatly besides her, and lies back in the sand, closing her eyes. The wind is not very strong down here, the place is sheltered and she only feels a cool breeze move the air, chilling the sweat on her limbs and finally bringing her sweet relief. She still hears Isabela and Hawke splashing and shouting in the surf, but she feels more centered and like herself again the longer she stays still, concentrating on just feeling her body cooling off.

Her thoughts wander. She tries to feel more charitable towards Hawke. Their friendship has always been an uneasy one - but there has been a change in Hawke – since her mother was murdered. They had not been able to prevent that. They had failed. They were too late. They saw – unspeakable horrors. If only... 

She had reached out to Hawke, tried to comfort her, but her help was rejected. Her concerns made light of, flung back in her face. Hawke preferred to drink her sorrows away – and she sought out Isabela for... _comfort_. 

Hawke has always been selfish, yes, but now... Aveline misses the Hawke she first met: also brash and often uncaring, but – that Hawke had had empathy when it mattered. Well, that Hawke might return yet. Grief takes time. She knows this. She knows the ugly forms it can sometimes take. If Hawke has to be an ass about it she will try to suffer through it. She will not prod. She will try to be patient. She owes this to her at least. She is her friend. 

After a while she is dozing, not keeping track of her thoughts anymore. She opens her eyes and lets them wander over the cliffs above. There are small birds flying high above, dipping and diving in the wind – they make Aveline think of Isabela in the water. Light and free – no care in the world. Waves break in an odd repeating rhythm that is regular – and yet not.

When she hears steps approaching she closes her eyes again. Someone sits down close to her, there is movement in the sand. She waits for another jibe, braces for it. But there is only silence.

Aveline looks over and sees Isabela stretched out on the sand. Her white tunic sticks to her body still dripping wet. Water droplets glisten and run down her dark skin. Aveline watches the pirate's chest rise and sink with breath still quick from exertion.

“Don't _ever_...” Aveline begins.

Isabela turns to her with a smirk. “Aw, big girl, you _do_ care!”


	2. 2

It had been a foolish idea. Maybe the worst idea she had ever had. Everything about this should have told her not to involve Hawke. But she always involved Hawke, didn't she? Hawke is... well, she supposes Hawke is as close a thing to family as she has these days. 

Like an annoying little sister. 

So she reached out to Hawke when she found herself needing help. She should have known that her timing was off. Hawke is still so raw. Short with her. Short with everyone. Maybe, she thinks, maybe she hoped that this would distract her friend, bring them closer again - a project for both of them. Something that did not involve murder and mayhem. A matter of the heart. A case that needed assistance from a true friend. 

She tried to get Hawke to, well, to help her feel out the situation with guardsman Donnic. After her friends' constant needling about her private life – or lack thereof – she had decided to look for someone suitable to pursue. Donnic is a good man. A kind man. Not bad looking. There is something about him that is just... He would be a good match. 

They do not speak to each other beyond what is necessary for their jobs. She is not good at getting a man's attention. Hawke and Isabela are. She cannot do with the pirate's teasing in these matters. Hawke has been more restrained there at least. So she asked Hawke – who had told her she had no time for these things. Had brushed her off. It had hurt.

Patience. It was a difficult time for Hawke. She would take matters into her own hands. 

Except in her hands it was nothing. She could not get up the nerve to approach Donnic.

Eventually, she had ordered a trinket, something she could give as a gift, something that might help her say what she meant without having to say anything: a relief of copper marigolds, heavy with symbolism, not too difficult to understand – but now it sits in her desk wrapped up and hidden away. The longer it is there the more unsure she becomes of what she wants. It has been weeks and weeks and she has not gotten any closer to reaching a resolution. 

So she finds herself downtrodden. Doubting. Questioning. Is being Guard Captain all that her life will be? Should it be that way? Is she doing her job well? Really, there are more important things than her love life she should be focusing on. Tensions are rising in Kirkwall and for every criminal apprehended there are two more that appear, for every innocent saved there are only more that need her protection. Hawke has turned sour and callous, more withdrawn and quick to anger. Varric and Isabela make light of even the direst situation. Anders and Merril mistrust her and she is not sure she trusts Fenris, as much as their ideals sometimes align. They are not close.

Sometimes she feels that Hawke's mabari is the only soul looking at her kindly. 

Tonight Isabela has invited her to come to the Hanged Man for a game of Wicked Grace and, Maker help her, for the first time she has agreed to come. 

Inside the tavern the noise is deafening. The place is crammed full and people are already well into their third round of the swill they are serving here. The smell is a revolting mix of old sweat, stale alcohol and something burnt or burning. 

There are musicians playing a never-ending array of repetitive up-tempo instrumentals. They all sound the same to her. She is quite sure she will be tempted to strangle at least one of them with their own instrument strings by the end of the night if her mood does not improve. And by the looks of things it is not likely to. She has spotted at least two minor crimes in progress just by glancing over to the bar where Isabela usually can be found.

Some of the patrons seem sober enough to recognize the Captain of the Guard, even out of her regular armor, and quickly clear a path for her. She makes her way over to Isabela without having to arrest anyone. 

Isabela sees her approaching and greets her with a spark in her eye and a lascivious smile. 

“I have to say I'm quite glad you took your guard armor off. I've missed the sight of those arms.”

Aveline scoffs. She eyes the rather large tankard Isabela is nursing. “Still pickling your insides?”

“I've got to keep old age at bay somehow.” The pirate takes a large swig and then leans forward to wave over the barkeep. “Another one for my friend!”

“Isabela, I don't - “

“Oh come on, big girl, the Hanged Man's finest may be swill, but it'll get the job done.”

“And what job might that be?” Aveline folds her arms defensively.

“You've got a larger stick up your arse than usual lately.” Isabela retorts. “This might go some way towards removing it.”

“Watch it, whore.”

The barkeep arrives with a tankard for her and Isabela picks it up and leads them over to a table that is tucked away in a corner of the tavern. 

It is strange that she should feel comfortable now sitting here with the pirate, but she finds that she does. They sip their ale and she watches Isabela watch the people around them. Her friend's eyes always seem hungry, are always roaming over whoever has caught her fancy this time. She is so open with her attraction, so carefree with it. For the first time Aveline finds that she is not repulsed by it bur rather is filled with – admiration? 

Well, Isabela would not be maudlin because she did not get a man. No, she would move on to the next. Plenty of fish in the sea. How apt for a pirate. No, _that_ is not what she admires - but Isabela would not have hesitated, would have gone after who had caught her eye. It is unfair that that should come so easily to her. Aveline drinks deeply. She has come here to be taken away from these thoughts. That ship has sailed. She winces. She should move on. She should...

“Big girl?” Isabela is looking at her, an eyebrow raised, lips quirked. 

“Sorry, I wasn't listening.”

“There's Varric and Merril.” Isabela frowns at her half-empty tankard and laughs. “Thirsty, are we? I'll get you another.”

She is gone before Aveline can object. Then Varric and Merril arrive and Aveline does not have to talk. She can just listen to their chatter while Isabela supplies them all with more drinks and a bottle or two for the table. Aveline is not overly confident in her skills at Wicked Grace, but with Merril present she is sure she won't be the one loosing the most coin this evening. Still, in the end it might be fun to watch Varric and Isabela fight it out between them. 

She really does enjoy watching Isabela. How much ale has she had? It doesn't matter. She feels better than she has in weeks. The Hanged Man is warm and cozy and Isabela's face is glowing in the dim light, her eyes shining as she wins another round. 

“You always win, Isabela. It's impressive.” Merril's eyes are wide and Aveline laughs.

Isabela winks at her. “We've been over this, kitten, I cheat - but your admiration is balm for my wicked soul.”

Then the coin is gone and Isabela has changed the rules. Merril has gone back to the alienage and somehow they are playing for shots of the bottle of brandy still left on the table. Also her luck seems to have changed. She has won at least two consecutive rounds. 

“Well done, big girl!” Isabela beams at her and pours her another shot. 

“To the most beautiful pirate... in the Hanged Man.” Aveline toasts, amused by her own joke. 

Isabela clucks her tongue. “You know, sweet thing, you may well be on your way to winning this round, too.”

Varric coughs. “I think I'm out. Ladies!” He raises his mug to them, drains it and gets up to leave. “Good night!”

They finish the game a short while later and Aveline has indeed won. She splits the dregs of the bottle with Isabela in celebration. She doesn't feel alone.

“You're not so bad, Isabela.”

“You're alright yourself.” 

Isabela is fuzzy on the edges. If anything that makes her more beautiful. She blends with the edges of the night and the lights of the tavern. Her eyes are beacons. Dark amber fire. Aveline blinks. 

“The lights... are outside and inside you.” she tells Isabela. “You are like the night...”

Isabela's face swims closer, dark and golden. “Shit, big girl, I think it's time for you to go home.”

Aveline is fine – and then she is not. Standing is a mistake. She did not think she was drunk while sitting down. She curses. Foolish.

Isabela is laughing and pulling her. Then the pirate is way too close. “Let go of me!”

“You fell on me! Shit, you are heavy!” 

Isabela is surprisingly strong. Somehow they make their way outside the Hanged Man and into the night. The cold air is a relief. Aveline tries to take a few steps on her own and nearly runs into a barrel.

“I can't let you go home like this.” 

“I am not sleeping... at the Hanged Man.”

“I meant – let you go home by yourself.”

“I don't need your help.”

“Well, I know a cozy little nook behind the ale barrels.”

“Shut up,... whore!”

“That's my girl!”

They are laughing – and that is the next mistake, because suddenly Aveline's stomach turns and she is violently sick. Isabela yelps and jumps away from her. 

“You missed my boots.” 

“...'s difficult to aim when you're-” Aveline begins and is cut off by another wave of nausea. She braces herself and takes a few steps to steady herself on a wall. Her head is hurting now and spinning worse than before. She moans and sinks to the ground.

“Oh shit.” Isabela is at her side, hand on her shoulder.

Aveline is about to protest when the the bile rises in her throat again and she is helpless and gasping between bouts of being sick, eyes stinging and sweat forming on her neck. 

Isabela coos and brushes the hair out of her face, untying the remnants of her ponytail and fastening it again more securely while she cannot even stop shaking and retching. 

Somehow Isabela guides her back to the barracks and into her own quarters without them being seen. Makes her rinse her mouth and drink some water. Helps her wash her face. Helps her out of her leathers and puts her to bed. Stays until she is asleep but is gone in the morning.

Aveline is ready for the teasing to be merciless the next day.

Isabela says nothing.


	3. 3

The day is not going well for any of them. 

First, there was the unfortunate matter of elven fugitives hiding with the Qunari of all places. If that was not tall enough an order to have to deal with - when she went to ask Hawke for help in the matter she ran into Isabela, who was there petitioning Hawke with a problem of her own: A slaver called Castillon was threatening the pirate's life – wanted her to hand over a relic she lost as repayment of some old debt. 

Oh, that famous relic. She has, in the past, offered to help Isabela search for it. All these years, however, they have not come close to finding it – let alone looked for it, as far as she knows. Now Isabela seems to suddenly have information on who might have it. More than that – according to the pirate the two matters are connected. Isabela's relic is of interest to the Qunari. Of course it would be. Aveline can feel a headache descending like a thundercloud.

Hawke and Isabela are in an “off again” phase of their... relationship – have been for months now, as far as she can tell. Nobody talks to her about it and she does not ask. Not her business, she tells herself. She wants to ask - but maybe it is better that she does not know. Whatever it is might be trouble. And trouble has a habit of following Isabela around. No – Isabela is the one causing trouble wherever she goes. But Aveline agrees to help, because of course she does. She is loyal to a fault. She cares about this impossible, wicked woman who has somehow become her friend. 

So they agree to go with her.

They are on their way to Lowtown, supposed to meet up with some small-time lowlife scum that Isabela _supposes_ has the relic right now. This might have been a job for the guard – but the Viscount is still grieving his son. Aveline wants to keep this new mess involving the Qunari away from him. Wants to spare him the trouble of having to answer to a full blown investigation.

She sighs and grits her teeth. After what happened... dealing with the Qunari has become even more difficult.

Isabela won't look her in the eye tonight – and if that doesn't bode well. She scoffs. It's going to be one of those nights. Maker help her.

She cannot let herself wonder, she has to stay alert. Lowtown is deceptively quiet. A full moon is casting eerily bright light on the nightly scene. Somehow they are all tense tonight and not in the mood for banter. Aveline tries to listen for anything unusual. 

At their destination, large and forbidding shadows loom. Then there is a flurry of movement as they come to life.

“The thief! Take back the relic!”

Aveline has barely enough time to brace herself before her shield arm snaps up reflexively to block a Qunari spear aimed straight at her chest.

“What is the meaning of this?!”

But the Qunari are not here to talk. They are on them without hesitation and Aveline's blood starts to boil at the realization that Isabela's relic might be a bit more important than the void-forsaken pirate had let on to warrant this kind of attention from the Qunari. 

When the last Sten is dispatched she turns to snap at Isabela, but Hawke is there first, pushing the pirate against a wall. “The whole story, Isabela!”

“Ah yes, about that. The relic belongs to the Qunari and there is a small chance they want it back. It's a book by their damned philosopher... Cousland... something. I took it from the Orlesians, but the Qunari got wind of it and pursued me. Getting my hands on the relic was easy – escaping from the Qunari, well... Then the storm happened and... you know the rest.” Isabela shrugs.

Even admitting that the pirate sounds coy. Aveline could slap her. 

“And they can't leave without it. All of this could have been avoided!” 

Aveline shouts, grabbing the pirate's arm who shoots her a dirty look. Hawke is quiet behind her and somehow that is an extra worry she doesn't quite know what to do with.

“Ow! What am I supposed to do? Give it back to them?” 

“That couldn't hurt!” 

”If I don't hand it over to Castillon he will kill me! I have to give it to him or he will never be off my back!”

Hawke steps forward, a calculating look in her eye. “All of this is your fault. You said... You promised... I should have known better than to trust you. Honor among thieves, ...right?” 

If Hawke is expecting an answer from the pirate she is not getting one. Isabela is pouting. 

“Yeah, right. Why wouldn't I just hand you over to him – or to the Qunari for that matter?” Hawke spits at the pirate. 

A look of genuine hurt flashes over Isabela's face, but it is quick and gone in a second, replaced by mock outrage. 

Aveline feels helpless, watching Hawke and the pirate fight it out with looks. Their body language defensive.

After a long silence Isabela groans. “Fine. I will get it for you. Satisfied?”

Hawke nods slowly. 

Relief floods over Aveline and she remembers to breathe. She is not sure what she would have done had Isabela not relented. Would Hawke make good on such a threat? Sure, the two were not lovers anymore - and their friendship currently seemed tenuous, but surely she would not...

And then there is no more time to think because they have entered the old foundry and run straight into more Qunari and... Tevinter mages?! 

The fight is upon them and as she charges forward Aveline notices a slight, fair haired young man out of the corner of her eye, rushing past Isabela, making a bee line for the door. 

“Sam!” Isabela shouts and turns to sprint after him.

“Isabela!” Hawke's eyes are huge with shock. Aveline is sympathetic to the feeling as her own stomach drops and fury boils up icy hot.

“She's gone. She went after it. That bitch-born whore! Leaving us to sort out her mess!”

Then the Qunari are upon them once more, making her postpone any further thoughts of Isabela for the time being and forcing her to channel her rage into her blows. 

_____

Hawke has said nothing. All the way to the harbor and the Qunari compound they have traveled in stony silence. 

Aveline has tried to bring up the situation once or twice but been shut down. She watches her friend's blood-drained face as she bites her lips. She could murder the pirate. She could kill her! She is quite certain Hawke has similar thoughts. Has she? 

It is impossible! What are they going to do? Surely Isabela should have realized that running off like this would place the whole city in jeopardy. Would she be so selfish? Well... clearly she would. 

After a while her anger fades, allows other feelings to surface. Maybe the pirate was simply too afraid? This Castillon and the Qunari were formidable foes – but they could have helped her. She would have defended her. She should have asked...

Sure, she blamed the pirate, but she would not... She would not give her to the Qunari. Not _that_. Not to such an uncertain fate. And surely Hawke had not really meant it when she said she would? Isabela must know we would not allow it. Could not allow it. Even if there was bad blood between them now.

Oh sure, she would gladly throw the pirate into a cell for a time - or meter out some other punishment – but she would not... wish her dead! Though she might have the impulse to kill her.

Not really kill her. Slap her. Punch her. That selfish whore! How could she...? 

There are such things as tears of anger. Does Isabela think so little of her – think that she would let her be taken by the Qunari? Left to whatever fate – no! 

Maybe Hawke will be able to reason with the Qunari. If one can reason with them now. Somehow Hawke has managed to ingratiate herself with them so far. They seem to respect her. Maybe something can yet be worked out. 

A hope that is dashed as soon as they speak to the Arishok. The atmosphere in the compound is tense and the negotiations over the elven fugitives go nowhere. Worse than nowhere. 

Hawke is not herself. She is aggressive and unyielding. She antagonizes wherever she can. 

Aveline tries to placate both parties, but fails. Then all hell breaks loose. The Qunari turn on them. Spears hail down as Aveline tries to shield both herself and Hawke from the onslaught and they flee the compound. Shit. 

They have to get to the keep and rally the guardsmen. 

When they reach Lowtown again there is a smell of burning in the air and the moonlight is augmented by flames. Distant sounds of fighting reach them – as do screams and shouts. They clear their way through small groups of Qunari and Aveline thanks the Maker when they run into Varric and Anders near the Hanged Man. 

“About time you two showed up.” The dwarf drawls. “You're missing all the fun.” 

“We have to hurry. We must get to Hightown and warn the guards. The Qunari are in Lowtown already. Maybe we can stop them from reaching the keep. We have to tell people to seek shelter there – or in the Chantry. They are the most defensible structures.”

“We'll be right behind you.” Anders waves over a young man and relays the instructions. Aveline trusts him to know the right people to spread the message. 

_____

When they reach Hightown, her optimism fades. 

“I don't see any of my guards.”

“Maybe they have been called to stem the fighting somewhere? Or they have rallied to defend the keep already?” 

Aveline wants to believe it, but it is difficult when a group of Qunari shows up with a Saarebas to rain lighting and more spears upon them. 

It galls her that it is not her own guards, but the templars that come to their defense now. Where are the guards? They should be here!

Hawke takes the lead, conferring with both Meredith and Orsino, when they find the mage leader defending another public square. 

Aveline feels like a third wheel, but she does her best to support them when they storm the keep, which turns out to be already in the hands of the Qunari. 

The mages and templars keep the bulk of the Qunari at bay, while Hawke leads a small party into the keep. Maybe not all is lost. Maybe they can yet save...

… but the Arishok is there to greet them. Throws the head of the Viscount at their feet. They are too late. They have failed. She has failed. The onlookers scream and flee in terror, some fall to their knees, some are struck down. 

The Qunari sneers at Hawke, who is steadfast, unmoving. Staring down the Arishok. 

“Prove yourself, Basra, or kneel with your brethren.” 

They have fought worse than the men he sends at them now. It is almost an insult.

When their bodies lie at their feet Aveline looks to Hawke and then the Arishok. What now? Behind them the remaining civilians flee the room.

But then there is a commotion outside and the big doors to the throne room swing open once more to reveal – Isabela, walking in - hips swaying and blood-spattered, eyes on fire and chin held high. 

Aveline's heart stops.

“It took me a while to get back what with all the fighting everywhere. You know how it is.” The pirate nonchalantly steps over one of the fallen bodies and moves to stand with Hawke.

Aveline feels faint with relief and rage. With admiration for this impossible... this irresponsible... magnificent...

The pirate leans over to Hawke and hands her a large tome with a wink and a smirk. 

Hawke's eyes are hard, her mouth a thin line. When she speaks it is almost inaudible. “All this is your fault. But I am surprised. It's unlike you to clean up your own messes.”

“This is your damned influence.” Isabela retorts with a cocky smile, then turns to aim it at Aveline as well.

The Qunari stir to action. “She stole the tome of Koslun, she must return with us. She will submit to the Qun.” The Arishok declares.

Aveline steps forward before she can stop herself. “Oh no, no, no. If anyone kicks her ass it's me.”

“Isabela will answer to our laws, not yours.”

Aveline wants to say more, but Hawke silences her with a look. She waits.

Hawke takes up the negotiation with the Qunari again, but the Arishok cannot be swayed. Cannot be talked into just leaving with the tome. No, he wants Isabela to pay. Wants them _all_ to pay.

“... a duel, single combat, to the death - with the thief as the prize.” The gigantic Qunari looms over Hawke, takes down his ornate greatsword for effect and places it in front of himself. 

Hawke returns his stare, but then swallows and shakes her head. “No, I will not give my life for her.” The rogue turns to look at the pirate. “Sorry Isabela. I am done cleaning up your messes.”

Isabela's face is impassive. Her smirk has vanished. Aveline is incredulous. This is not happening. Surely this is not happening. Hawke would not... 

“Challenge me, then.” Isabela shouts and walks past Hawke to stand in front of the Arishok. 

“You are unworthy.”

Aveline cannot stop herself. “Fight me! I will stand for her.” 

The Arishok turns his head and she feels measured, her worth taken by a single look. 

“Very well, Basra.” 

It is decided. Adrenaline rushes through her, invigorates her. 

The other Qunari start to chant as Aveline and the Arishok stand to face each other. They circle. The fight begins. 

Aveline knows she is in for the fight of her life when the Arishok's double-tongued greatsword first makes impact with her shield. She has braced for it and yet the hit shakes her through and through. She feels like a bell being rung. 

She feigns a weakness on her left side and manages to swiftly dodge an attack, landing a hit on the Qunari's arm instead. He grunts in displeasure and whips around to lance her leg – but she has stepped back.

She has little time to enjoy her success as he prepares to unleash the full force of his attack on her again. She doesn't fully manage to dodge a blow to her side in time and it is agony. She is breathless for an instant. She grits her teeth. Another hit she catches with her shield – her wrist and muscles burning with the impact. 

They dance around each other, circling and evaluating, landing hits and dodging attacks. She will have to stay patient. Manage her strength. Stay alert. 

Sweat pools under her armor, runs down her back, down her face, stings her eyes. She wipes at her brow - and that is a mistake because the Qunari is on her in an instant. Knocking her back with full force and near skewering her on his sword. She just manages to dodge enough to avoid the tip hitting her full on, but the side of it catches her and slams her to the ground. Leaves her winded and stars dancing in front of her eyes. 

She has to get up. She has to get up or she is dead. Has to get up or Isabela is dead. Or they are _all_ dead.

She rolls, dodges the greatsword yet again. 

This cannot be just a test of strength. She is confident in her own powers, but to defeat this mountain of a man, strength cannot be her only weapon. Her mind is racing.

She digs down deep within herself. Calls to the Maker. Leaps forward through the Arishok's legs, rolls onto her back and rises up while turning her blade upwards, thrusting up with all the force she can muster, slicing through the leathers under the Arishok's groin and into the soft flesh she hopes to find there. 

A howl tells her she has succeeded. She jumps to her legs fully and turns, bringing up her shield to herself. Blood is gushing out of the wound on the Qunari's inner thigh. He screams and lunges at her again.

Her shield is crushed to her chest, trapping her arm for an instant until she takes a step back, and out of the Qunari's way, escaping to the side as he barrels past her. 

Her eyes widen, incredulous at the large amount of blood that is left behind where the Arishok stood. 

She hopes - she cannot be distracted now. She whips around to face him again. His face is ashen, contorted, eyes wide as he watches her, clamps his hand down on the wound in his leg, trying to stem the spray of blood. 

His next attack is sudden and furious, driving her down and knocking her shield away from her body. Bringing the edge of it down. 

Her shoulder. He got her shoulder. Her arm is useless, her shield gone. 

He shouts in Qunlat and comes for her again, but his gait is imbalanced and he misses her completely when she lunges out of his way. She is behind a pillar, ready to step out with her sword held level, to parry, to strike.

She hears more shouts and leaves her sheltered spot to sees the Arishok's leg has given out and he is down on one knee, using the greatsword for balance. 

The ground is covered in pools of blood and the Arishok's armor is sodden with it from the top of his legs down. 

His great body shudders. He looks at her. The room is silent. 

“You have bested me. Basra.” He lets go of his sword and it falls with bang. “Take your thief, but know that one day we shall return.”

The man folds in on himself and seems to crumble, all strength drained from his body. Truly drained of life – and blood, Aveline thinks as the pool around them grows larger still.

She cannot stand any longer and drops to her knees as well. She feels numb. Cold. She hears her friends' voices but they waver and swim out of focus. She looks at her hands and finds them dripping with blood.

With some detachment she realizes that some of it must be her own. 

She sees Isabela's face, full of uncharacteristic concern, sees Hawke approach behind her. She is lifted, dragged. Someone screams. 

She watches Hawke examine the body of the Arishok as Isabela forces her to drink a healing potion. 

There are more voices now. The remaining Qunari leave and slowly citizens return, forming a circle around Hawke and the Arishok. 

Then there are shouts of joy and excited chatter as the room fills. Aveline spots templars and finally some of her guards. Everyone is so loud. 

Then the room grows darker and darker – suddenly they are all gone.


	4. 4

There are voices again. They are so loud. They hurt.

“Shut up.” she tells them.

“Aveline?!”

There is a flurry of movement. Footsteps. Someone touches her forehead and she groans. “G'... away.”

“There, there. That's not a way to greet the people who have been taking care of you.”

“Varric?” Aveline's throat is rough and she coughs.

“Stay still.” This is Anders. “Get her some water, Isabela.”

Opening her eyes is exhausting. She struggles to keep them open. 

“I have healed your shoulder, but you were badly hurt. It will take a while longer to get your strength back.”

A potion is pressed to her lips. It is very bitter. She manages to swallow some of it.

She feels herself slipping away again. This time there are dreams. She is running. Running after Isabela. She is closing in. Then Isabela is beside her. They are fast and she feels light. Then the floor drops out from under them. 

She starts awake with a shout. 

“Easy, big girl.” A cool hand is placed on her forehead. “You're still here. You're indestructible.” A soft, uneasy laugh.

Aveline groans. Things come back to her. “... water?”

Isabela sits beside her, holds her head up, places the waterskin on her mouth so she can drink. She only takes a few sips. She feels weak, so weak. 

“I am not going anywhere.” Isabela promises. 

“That's...new.”

A true laugh this time, still quiet, but rumbling low with mirth. 

“That's my girl!”

Aveline's heart takes solace in the sound. When she sleeps some more, she feels calmer. There are no dreams.

_____

“She what?!”

“Yeah, Knight Commander Meredith proclaimed it. Champion of Kirkwall. Services to the city... yada, yada. She's taken a real shine to our Hawke, that one.” Varric scratches his neck. He seems embarrassed. 

“And Hawke is going along with it?!”

Aveline is stunned. She does not know what to make of this. What is Hawke playing at? Why would she...? So blatant a lie!

“Right. Well, things were crazy there for a while and they took Hawke away. Anders and I tried to get you back the the baracks and when we got back... Hawke was out there with the crowd. We couldn't...." Isabela, shifts uncomfortably. "...and we are under orders now not to speak of... well, how things really went. Hawke even went so far as to suggest that you'd be fine with it...?”

“But we have your back. You want us to defend your honor, you say the word.” 

“Right, yes. We just wanted to know what you think is best for us to do now.” 

“We know the title should be yours.”

“But our first priority was to make sure you would survive this and...” 

Their concern is touching. Aveline is bewildered. But... not upset. She considers.

“Funny thing is. She is right.” Aveline finds. “I already have a job. I would not have wanted _that_ title.” 

She knows who she is. She is the Captain of the Guard. She would not trade places with Hawke for anything. Meredith's champion? No. "She did me a favor."

“I have to say I am relieved you are taking it so well.” Varric crooks a grin. “Truth be told I was not looking forward to taking on the templars so close to taking on the Qunari.” He casts her an apologetic glance, stretches, groans and arches his back. “Not as young as I used to be.”

“Who _is_?” Aveline downs another potion Anders has prepared for her. Her stamina is returning slowly but surely. “I know I must still look... worse for wear.”

“You should have seen the other guy.” Isabela quips. 

Everyone laughs and Aveline feels decidedly not alone anymore.

_____

The next day the potions have worked wonders and Anders leaves to return to Lowtown. He has people to take care of there. Varric also takes off, he will do his bit, she is sure. 

Isabela leaves briefly, but returns with dinner in the form of a chicken and a bottle of red wine. Leaves the wine with her and then heads off with the chicken in search of some poor soul willing to prepare it for them. Aveline is certain of her success. 

The pirate has rarely left her side. Aveline is not sure what to make of it. Sometimes she has snapped at her, anger welling up at Isabela's part in the Qunari attack, but the pirate has borne it, uncharacteristically contrite. She is not sure how she should mete out punishment - or if she even wants to.

She has been busy all day, feeling up to returning to her desk duties, feeling the need to know what is going on in her city. She has not officially returned to duty, is not wearing the armor. She has, however, spoken to a representative of the guard. Sent some short missives. Everyone will be busy, but they will do better knowing that she is alive and aware of what is going on. Restoring the city and helping people that have been injured or lost their homes – maybe lost loved ones – that will be their first priority. Restoring order. Keeping the peace. Helping people.

She has also written to Hawke and Knight Commander Meredith, letting them know that she is willing to go along with their game – not in these words exactly. This is a headache she cannot deal with right now. It will need to be adressed soon, however. The woman has all but moved into the keep, stationing templars along with her guards. She closes her eyes and sighs, kneading her brows. There are entirely too many headaches for her to deal with.

The door slams open and Isabela enters, as if summoned by her thoughts, carrying a basket over one arm and a steaming pot firmly grasped between thick pot holders. A somewhat bedraggled looking guard follows her, bearing glasses. 

Aveline steps in to relieve him off them with a nod, dismissing him. He flees the scene and she shuts the door behind him. Aveline almost feels sorry for him.

“Such talented young guards you have in this place. So helpful and resourceful.” She has put the pot down on the table and produced plates and cutlery from the basket. 

Aveline places the wine glasses gingerly on the table. “Surely you did not find these in the barracks.”

Isabela's grin tells her everything she needs to know. “They won't be missed.”

“You are incorrigible.”

“Oh, you love it - and is that a way to talk to the woman who has -” Isabela removes the lid of the pot with a flourish. “ - provided you with a hearty and truly delicious meal this evening?” 

Aveline has to admit that the smell makes her mouth water. The chicken is sitting in a nest of onions and potatoes, all golden and crisp.

“I have to repay my debt to you somehow.” Isabela says, uncorking the wine. 

“Surely this debt should be repaid with more than... a chicken.” 

“Don't forget the wine.” 

“More than a chicken and a bottle of wine, then. Half a bottle and half a chicken at that – or are you just here to watch me eat?”

“Hah! Tempting – but what else did you have in mind?” Isabela winks, her voice turned low and seductive. 

Aveline huffs. Scowls. “I didn't...” She feels her face warm, curses her complexion that gives her blush away.

It seems Isabela is feeling merciful. She ushers Aveline to her seat and serves the chicken. Aveline watches mesmerized as the chicken is taken apart with ease. Skills with daggers do seem to translate into skills with a kitchen knife. 

They eat – well, Aveline eats... slowly. Isabela picks at her food and relays news and gossip of the barracks to her at an alarming speed. 

“Have you spoken to Hawke?” 

Isabela stops. Swallows. Takes a gulp of wine. 

“No.”

“You aren't... were you two not...?”

“She's the Champion of Kirkwall now, she can pick whatever nubile young thing or strapping warrior she wants to bed. She doesn't need a washed-up pirate, who has caused her nothing but trouble.”

“Will you go speak to her?”

“Will you?” It is a challenge. Isabela is frowning. “Of course you will.” 

"I owe it to her. I cannot fully accept what she has done, but I have to try." 

“We're beyond that.” Isabela shakes her head. “Trust is... No, I don't think I have forgiven her and I don't think she has forgiven me quite yet. I would say we have nothing in common anymore, but I guess that would be wrong: we are both lying snakes.”

“You did the right thing in the end. If you had not, we might not have been able to save Kirkwall.”

“ _You_ saved Kirkwall.”

Aveline throws her hands up in frustration. “That's not – you all make it sound as it was all _me_ – singlehandedly. It was _not_! I could not have taken back the city by myself. Many people helped.”

“You saved me, anyway.” Isabela sounds almost plaintive. 

Aveline doesn't know what to respond to that. 

“And I still say you could have. You could have just taken back the city – killed them all. You're formidable: a human-shaped battering ram.”

Aveline raises her eyebrows, scoffs. “Flattery will get you nowhere with me.”

They eat in silence for a while. 

“So, what about you? Have you forgiven me?”

“That should be obvious.” 

“Oh. I am never quite sure with you, big girl.” 

Aveline pauses. There are too many contrasting feelings rearing their ugly heads for her to make sense of them right now. She collects herself. 

“I will think of something you can do to make it up to the people of Kirkwall.”

Isabela grimaces.

Aveline, emboldened, carries on, “I can see it now: _The Good Deeds of Isabela, Former Captain of The Siren, Savior of Widows and Orphans_...” 

“You wouldn't!”

“I would.”

Aveline relaxes when they fall back into their familiar banter. Breathes a sight of relief. She would not give this up for the world. Isabela is like an old sparring partner you know well. You feel at home in the dance, the exchange of blows. You measure your strength against each other.

_____

Later, they sit by the fire in her room. Isabela seems loath to go and Aveline is loath to let her. She enjoys watching Isabela's face in the firelight. She is familiar now with her quick wit, her barbs and taunts – they have lost some of their sting – and they are usually delivered with smirks and a purr, both of which Aveline has to smile at. She loves her.

It. She loves it. 

Her face falls. Where did that come from?

“Everything alright, sweet thing?”

“What?!” 

“You look like you just saw a ghost.”

Aveline takes a deep breath and shakes her head. “Just... tired.”

Isabela nods, stretches. Stifles a yawn herself. She is beautiful. Cat-like. 

Maker take her. She is not one to lie. “I was just... Do you ever wonder, Isabela-?”

“-about you and I?”

“No! Yes. What?” 

“Shit. What?” 

They are staring, wide-eyed. 

Isabela crawls over to her. Aveline's heart is beating entirely too fast. 

“You know I'm not good at emotional stuff.” the pirate says and kisses her forcefully, teeth clashing. 

She tastes of wine and heat and when the kiss ends and Aveline holds her close, feeling their hot breath mingle, she knows that she wants this – wants Isabela. She kisses her again, more slowly this time, deliberately and deeply, and hums when Isabela returns the kiss in kind. 

“You are,” Isabela says between kisses, “not at all bad at this.”

Aveline growls. “I was married once, you know. You might see me as the ice maiden, but-”

“I stand corrected.” 

It is difficult to only kiss. She wants to touch, she needs to...

Isabela moans and then bends to kiss her neck, unfastening the strings of her shirt. 

They are forceful with each other. Aveline feels Isabela's muscles flex beneath her figners, feels her own body tense and shift with the other woman's touches. She looses herself in Isabela, breathes her in, tastes her, is intoxicated with her. She is alive. They are alive. It is wonderful.

Isabela's nimble fingers have found a way under her shirt. Aveline moans at the touch of warm hands on her skin, sometimes soft, sometimes rough. The pirate's fingers roam across her belly, her touch is... thrilling. Aveline leans into it, wanting more, wanting Isabela to touch all of her. 

Isabela chuckles, low and musical. Butterflies descend on Aveline's stomach when they kiss again. 

In response Aveline makes short work of her shirt, pulling it off over her head in one swift motion. Stirred on, Isabela assists with her trousers. 

Aveline stands in order to rid herself of them completely and also of the last of her garments. 

“You were right, you know.” Isabela leans back, looking up at her with appreciation. “You don't look too bad naked.” 

Aveline feels her blush spreading all over her skin, warmth burning in waves. 

Isabela licks her lips. “Now that, sweet thing, is spectacular.” 

Aveline holds her gaze. “Your turn.”

“Nothing you haven't seen before – but you've never truly looked, have you?” Isabela disrobes as she might have expected her to. It is a show and Aveline drinks it all in, allowing herself to let her eyes linger on the other woman's strong legs, generous curves and soft hips, her shapely, large breasts and dusky-dark, dark nipples, the odd, interesting scar and her beautiful belly, rounded – but she knows this seeming softness is deceptive – Isabela is steely muscle underneath. 

Her golden jewelry is last. Then the pirate turns on the tips of her toes, flexing her leg muscles, smirking with a backwards glance as she lets Aveline admire her taut back and... beautiful ass. 

Her eyes linger. Aveline is certain she is entirely crimson now. 

“Like what you see?” Isabela saunters towards her. 

Aveline swallows. “I do.”

She reaches for Isabela and she comes to her. The embrace has her heart and mind racing. Isabela is a glowing ember in her arms. Aveline holds on wondering at how their bodies fit together so well. 

Isabela is kissing her neck, her ears, her jaw, and she shivers when small jolts of pleasure travel down the middle of her at each new impact of her lover's mouth. It is easy to just give in to sensation.

“Let me-” Isabela begins and backs them up against her table. 

Their exploration of each other becomes frantic again. Her teeth nip at Isabela's neck in between kisses. Then Isabela's hand is between her legs. Aveline inhales sharply, holds her breath – then leans into the touch, leans forward to capture Isabela's mouth again, kissing her deeply and hungrily. 

Isabela knows what she is doing. She explores and listens to Aveline's moans, taking note when they intensify. Aveline growls into the pirate's shoulder. This is incredible. She has missed... sex. Her breath is ragged, and when her lover's fingers curl deep into the heat of her, it does not take long for her to come undone. 

Isabela crawls onto her lap, pushing her over so Aveline is sitting on the corner of the desk. She grinds her body into Aveline, moaning, seeking purchase on her hip. Aveline pulls her up, inching further back so they are lying on the desk, ignoring the things that tumble to the ground. Isabela is kneeling over her and Aveline reaches for the center of her, pushing, flattening the palm of her hand over her lover's sex, grinding the heel of her hand against the apex. Pushes her fingers into impossibly soft, slippery heat, mimics Isabela's earlier tactics. The sounds that are her reward are fierce and obscene and shake her to the core. 

Isabela stays that night. They are kept awake by adrenaline and the thrill of each other. 

The sky outside is growing light when Aveline finally sinks into drowsy sleepiness. 

There is so much for her to do – but if she can be here with Isabela in her arms – maybe more unlikely things can be won as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to MissRachelThalberg for the beta. 
> 
> This fic and its characters proved to be quite willful. (I love them, though, really.) I hope you enjoy the result nontheless.


End file.
